


astra inclinant, sed non obligant

by aelinlightbringer



Series: astra inclinant, sed non obligant [1]
Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Throne of Glass AU, rowaelin, this is my first fic on here!! so idk how to work it i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-18 23:01:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 21,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9406781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aelinlightbringer/pseuds/aelinlightbringer
Summary: An AU inspired by Aelin and Rowan's conversation in Queen of Shadows--an alternate world where they do meet when they're 17.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some notes about this AU--Elena did her job 1,000 years ago, so Erawan and the Valg are gone and not a threat. Maeve is also, for no particular reason, chill and not really in the picture. Also, thank you to my wonderful beta reader Shelby (@aelin on tumblr)! Thank you for all your help!!

_Cool. Calm. Water to soothe the fire. Water to calm my insides._ They were familiar thoughts, and Aelin took a deep breath, raising the cold glass to her lips once more, to sip delicately at the water inside. _Cool. Calm._

Aelin looked out the window of the ship, seeing the dark, calm sea all around her. She was currently on her way to Wendlyn, where her parents had sent her for training. But she knew that her mother was also eager for Aelin to be on the ocean—being surrounded by water, her mother had said, would hopefully pull Aelin’s water magic out into the open.

But so far, the ocean had done no such thing. Rather, thought Aelin as she shifted uneasily once again, the ocean was riling up her fire magic. She thought perhaps it was uneasy, being so close to so much water. It only brought up foul memories, of her mother’s crying apologies and water surrounding her body—but no. Aelin would not think of that. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, and shifted back into her human form. She didn’t like to stay in her human body, not when it was so weak and dull, but her magic was locked down in this form.

As Aelin gazed out onto the sparkling sea, and the last beams of sunlight slid under the horizon, she wondered if perhaps staying in her human form was best until she got to Wendlyn.

Wendlyn, of course, was the desperate, last-ditch effort of her parents. Aelin was glad for her private stateroom—worthy of a Princess, of course, even on the seas—as she winced in memory of the event that had led to her being sent off.

It really was no surprise. Aelin’s magic had been a problem for years—for her entire life, actually. And for that time, the focus had been on the suppression of her magic, on cooling the fire that danced and writhed within her soul. After all, her mother said, behind closed doors when she thought Aelin couldn’t hear, teaching Aelin to use the immense magic inside her could be seen as an act of war, especially for the nearby nations who insisted she would grow up to be a weapon, despite the lack of evidence for their claims.

Aelin turned her gaze from the soft waves outside to her hands. They were pale, unscarred, which didn’t seem right considering what had happened.

Her magic had been growing more and more unstable in the past few years. And last week, it had exploded.

She had not meant for it to happen, truly, she had not. That was all she could say, afterwards. Aelin had simply been tired, tired and annoyed that Aedion was off with some girl rather than go out riding with her, and it was so silly, so _stupid_ and she hated it. But she had been annoyed and distracted, and just tired enough that her normal stranglehold on her magic had slipped. _Such an innocent word_ , Aelin thought. ‘Slipped’, as though she had merely taken a misstep. But she had lost control, and the stable boy behind her, simply trying to take her horse, had taken the brunt of it.

He had lived. Barely.

She hung her head in her hands at the memory, her stomach twisting in shame. _She_ had done that, had hurt someone with her own magic, and had nearly killed a boy. It was no longer something her parents could ignore. So they had shipped her off to Wendlyn, to train with an expert, far away from the prying eyes of Terrasen’s lords and ladies.

She had expected to feel glad, happy to finally conquer the magic in her rather than locking it away. But she didn’t. Aelin had denied her magic so much that it no longer like hers—or maybe it never had. She could no longer remember. All she knew was that there was a wild, wild thing inside her, and she could not control it.


	2. Chapter 2

Rowan’s ear twitched back, listening to Emrys’ gravelly voice behind him, entwining with the sound of the pounding rain outside and the occasional crackle of lightning and thunder. He stood in front of the only window in the kitchens—not that he could see much of anything under the cloak of night, especially with the clouds covering any moonlight, but he liked to watch the rain fall down right outside the window while he scrubbed the dishes. Technically it was Luca’s job—but the male had given Rowan a sheepish smile, and Rowan had taken over with a roll of his eyes. Perhaps Luca took advantage of his helpful nature too much. Rowan did enjoy Emrys’ stories, the way the older male was able to weave fantastical worlds and beasts with only his voice, and washing the dishes allowed Rowan to do something with his hands while listening, even if he did give Luca a hard time about it.

Rowan glanced at the small crowd behind him, gathered to hear Emrys’ stories, and he smiled slightly. Despite the chores and work that came from living in Mistward, it was Rowan’s favorite place in Wendlyn. Far from the sneers of his cousins in Doranelle, where every interaction seemed like a game that Rowan could never win, and far from the power struggles there, too, the sort that left Rowan eternally grateful he had never inherited any sort of political power. He was a Prince, yes—the last thing that his uncle had hissed at him before he left for Mistward. His uncle had said that Rowan was shaming his family by ‘wasting his talents’ at the outpost. It was a place that would have had any of his cousins wincing, with its dark stone passages, simple rooms, and the mix of people too, Fae and demi-Fae and even a few mortals that passed through. Completely beneath him, as his uncle loved to put it, but Rowan adored it. He was no disappointing Prince here—just Rowan, who was always willing to lend a helping hand, even if he was a little quiet around strangers and people he didn’t know well. But he fit in here. And that was what made the small outpost in the chilly mountains the place that Rowan loved most.

 


	3. Chapter 3

It was a few miserable weeks on that ship. Aelin stayed squarely in her human body, but even then, she could feel the fire in her gut flicker on occasion.

It had not been a particularly entertaining voyage, either. Not that Aelin had expected it to be, really, and it was certainly no shock that the crew avoided her, just as those in the castle did. Aelin knew that it was another reason her parents had sent her to Wendlyn rather than finding a teacher in Terrasen. Not only was Wendlyn widely regarded as the magic capital of the world, it was far away from Terrasen. She knew that her parents had tried to get her away from the whispered rumors and stares, at least for a while.

“ _And who knows,”_ her father had said, “ _you might even find a friend._ ” He had said it with a smile, and she had smiled, albeit weakly, back at her father. Though the words felt like a mockery, she knew that her father meant them with all his heart. Of her two parents, he had always pushed for her training, had always seen how it affected her life more than her mother had.

But she really couldn’t blame either of them. Aelin was…different. She knew it. Different than anyone else in the castle, with that wrathful fire burning in her blood. She sometimes felt that it overpowered her, that sometimes her magic was more powerful than she was. She felt it more and more often nowadays.

“Princess, if you would,” a deckhand said, and Aelin snapped out of her daze, offering the boy a thankful nod, while she stepped off the boat and onto the docks. She breathed a single sigh of relief, her shoulders sinking just as her magic, too, relaxed at the distance between her and the water.

She only had the moment to compose herself before she was following a member of the Royal Guard through the thick crowd that covered the docks. In her human form, she could not follow him by scent, so she scrambled to catch up with the long-legged guard, trying her best not to elbow her way through the crowd as she went.

Gods, it was stifling over here, with the sun beating down on her head, its heat magnified by the sheer amount of bodies around her. Her nose crinkled as a single bead of sweat slipped down her back. Lovely.

She caught up with the guard, who had already started checking their ship in with the Wendlyn customs officer. She discretely tried to regulate her breath—about the same time Aelin realized that perhaps she needed training in more than just her magic—as the rest of her escort filed in to the small, quickly-heating building that she had followed the head guard into.

They were finally allowed through, and Aelin Ashryver Galathynius made her way into Wendlyn.

 

She might have thrown a greater fit, perhaps, that her parents were sending her off to a far-off country across a great sea, if she weren’t so…well, _excited_ about it. Her excitement was muted by the circumstances regarding her journey, but she could still feel the twinge of it in her blood. It was the first trip outside Terrasen she had taken without her parents, without stuffy state dinners and endless formalities—a trip where she could truly see the world, without her parents hovering over her shoulder and guiding her from one palace to another. Aelin loved Terrasen, she loved it in her soul and her bones, the way the wind whipped around her, as wild as the fire that lived in her, and she loved the way the mountains and forests called to her, their songs as ancient and powerful as the gods. Aelin loved Terrasen, but she wanted to see the _world_.

So, as Aelin stood in the wonderfully chaotic market in the port city that she had landed in, she let herself smile. And it felt so good that she let it stretch, until her cheeks hurt and her eyes nearly shut in delight, as the scent of spices and savory food and smoke filled her nose, and colorful flags and carts stood at every corner, and Aelin found that this small market called to a part of her soul as much as the vast mountains of Terrasen did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you enjoy tog/acotar content, join me at @aelintheunburnt on tumblr!
> 
> also i have like 12 more chapters after this written...i think i might just post them all today, any thoughts??


	4. Chapter 4

Aelin and her contingent made their way into the heart of Wendlyn, the low desert lands uncomfortably warm even in winter. It took them nearly two weeks to reach Doranelle, and even the sights around Aelin began to dull, consumed by the nervous energy that enveloped her more and more often. She stayed in her human body out of fear, and she found, to her relief, that she was beginning to forget the grace and glorious senses that came with her Fae body. _I should forget_ , she told herself. If her new teacher could not help her to curb her lethal magic, she would have to live the rest of her life in her human body—so she would never hurt anyone again.

“Princess?” one of her guards said, and she blinked out of her stupor, glad for a distraction from the sudden tightness in her throat. “We’ve arrived in Doranelle.”

Aelin looked at the window, gasping at the sight around her, so brilliant even the dread in her stomach lessened some.

It was truly a city of rivers—tributaries laced through the city, flanked by streets of pale stone houses. “It’s beautiful,” Aelin murmured, although it seemed to her a cold sort of beauty.

A few minutes later, Aelin felt her carriage rolling to a stop. A guard opened her door, and she nodded in thanks.

She got out, throwing her shoulders back and holding her chin high, trying to look like a haughty royal in the hopes that some of the steel in her gaze might travel to her heart.

An enormous mansion of marble, so white and unmarred she wondered for a moment if it were made of ice, stood before her. It sat close enough to the enormous waterfall near Doranelle that Aelin could hear its dull roar, and even see the gleam of mist on houses beyond the one standing before her.

Her heart pounding in her throat, she stepped through the doors of the mansion.

 

She was immediately greeted by servants, who escorted her through the house, which was just as clean and cold as the exterior outside. Quite literally cold—there was a chill in the air that had not been outside, and the spark of magic in the air that went along with it made her feel uneasy.

Aelin was finally escorted to a set of large doors with gleaming wood paneling and golden insets. She took a deep breath, pushing down the shakiness that had grown in her, and nodded to the servants beside her, who each grasped a handle and swung the door open wide.

“Auberon Whitethorn, noble head of House Whitethorn,” a servant announced, bowing their head low in deference. Aelin looked up, trying to offer a polite smile to her new instructor.

“Hello, Aelin Galathynius,” the male purred from atop his throne—there was no other word for the gilded chair on the dais before her. Aelin knew in the back of her mind that he was being utterly disgraceful, sitting like he was of a higher ranking than her—but she couldn’t bring herself to do anything about it. The male radiated dominance and a quiet violence. She had heard tales about the ferocious Fae that lurked in Wendlyn, so much fiercer than their cousins in Erilea, but she had not believed them until now.

Even slouched on a throne, as though he could not quite bring himself to care about her, her instincts screamed at her that he was a force to be reckoned with. Long silvery-blonde hair fell to his waist, but even his fine clothes and delicate crown, silver in a pattern of feathers, could not hide the warrior that he was.

“Lord Whitethorn,” Aelin said, allowing a slight tip of her chin. She reminded herself to take breaths, to look serenely upon the male and maintain her composure. She would not be intimidated in their first meeting.

“So, Aelin Galathynius,” he said, and there was a definite lilt of mockery in his tone, “why have you come to Wendlyn?”

She wavered for a moment. “My parents should have sent a letter,” she replied, and she cursed herself for the hesitation in her voice. With another deep breath, she brought her shoulders back and summoned her serene smile once more.

“I received their letter,” Auberon Whitethorn intoned. “But I asked _you_ why you are here.”

Aelin paused again. “To control my magic,” she said hesitantly. She could no longer hold the male’s piercing eyes and looked down to the marble floor. It was so well polished she could nearly see her own reflection.

“It seems you can already do that,” Auberon said, his voice was monotone save for a sliver of derision that slipped into his tone.

“Not always. Not in…my other form,” Aelin said. A wave of memory rushed up to greet her, anger and raging flames and the sound of someone screaming—

“Then shift,” Auberon commanded. And gods help her, he rose from his throne, and she could not help but take a step back as he loomed in front of her. He was even larger standing up than she had guessed.

“Alright,” she said, trying to hide the tremble in her voice and the thudding of her heart. She shifted in a flash of light, settling into her Fae body. It was almost lovely to truly experience the world again; all the scents and sights that she could not detect in her mortal body, but her magic immediately began to flicker in her gut. She clamped down on it with all she could, bringing up the iron will that she had developed in all her years of dealing with her magic.

“Stop it,” he snarled, and Aelin flinched back, surprised. She hadn’t done anything. As though he could read her thoughts, he advanced further, that snarl still on his face, exposing the wicked canines similar to the ones Aelin herself now bore. But he was much, much larger than her, and Aelin cursed the fear coursing through her blood. It only agitated her magic further. _No, no, not now,_ she thought desperately.

“Stop shoving your magic down,” Auberon continued. “This is your problem. You cannot keep suppressing it and expect to control it.”

“I—”

“Hush, child,” Auberon interrupted. A small part of Aelin was shocked at his rudeness, but the rest of her was deadly still. The male took another step closer to her, intimidation rolling off him in waves. He looked her up and down, his brow furrowing slightly. “I cannot teach someone who is in such complete denial.”

This time, even the logical side of Aelin could not keep her quiet. “ _Excuse_ you? I am Princess Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, and I have come seeking your help, so how _dare_ you speak to me—”

“Quiet, girl,” Auberon snarled again, interrupting her, and it was the feral gleam of fangs in her face that silenced her. “You’re a child compared to me. A speck of dust. I will not tutor a spoiled little Princess.” Aelin gasped in shock at his insulting tone, and she sputtered for a moment, but—but what words could she hurl at this ancient male, that could wound a heart so much colder and crueler than her own? He began speaking again before she could get a word out.

“I’ll tell you what, Aelin,” the male began, a predatory smile on his lips. “Since I do owe your mother a favor, I will send you to my nephew, Prince Rowan. He has remarkable talent—particularly with his control over his magic. I think he could help you greatly.” There was a gleam in Auberon’s eyes, but Aelin couldn’t tell exactly what it was. She felt…odd. This was not what she had wanted, not what had been arranged, but—but surely any teacher would be better than this overpowering male.

Auberon didn’t wait for her answer. “I’ll call you up an escort now.”


	5. Chapter 5

Rowan was in the kitchens yet again—not that he was complaining, with the warm space being one of his favorites in Mistward—kneading the day’s bread in the watery dawn light when a falcon swooped in and shifted with a burst of light.

Luca, who had been working alongside him, jumped back with a shout, but Rowan held his ground. With as large a family as his, he had grown used to such dramatic entrances. After all, no one would accuse the House Whitethorn of being dull.

“Hello, Enda,” Rowan said, his grin slowly growing while Luca watched on with an expression of mild horror. Rowan supposed that Luca _wasn’t_ used to random birds of prey flying in through windows, but Rowan had recognized the small peregrine from the moment he’d flown in.

“Rowan!” Enda greeted him, rounding the corner of the battered table to engulf his cousin in a bear hug. Rowan accepted it with a laugh, ruffling Enda’s hair. While he didn’t miss the politics of Doranelle, he did miss some of his cousins, the ones he’d run wild with only years before. And Enda was one of his favorites.

“I take it you’re not just here because you miss me,” Rowan said, flicking his younger cousin’s nose. Luca cleared his throat, and Rowan half-turned to him, having already forgotten about him. “Sorry, Luca—this is Endymion. My cousin. Enda, this is Luca.”

“Nice to meet you,” Enda said, extending a hand with a genuine smile. Still, Luca’s face was pale as he accepted it, his eyes on Enda’s shining canines.

“I—should go help out, with the—” Luca stuttered, and Rowan gave him a nod, which Luca seemed utterly grateful for as he left the kitchen. Maybe two full-Fae males were a bit overwhelming in such a small space.

Rowan turned back to Enda, a small smile still on his face. Enda had flopped onto a small wooden stool that creaked in protest. He didn’t seem to notice, though, digging in a satchel and bringing out a letter.

“Auberon told me to give this to you,” Enda said, handing Rowan the pristine envelope, red wax bearing the sigil of House Whitethorn. “He told me to come as fast as I could. Not even a day’s rest,” the male continued with a roll of his eyes.

“Doranelle is barely a day’s journey away, with your swift little wings,” Rowan laughed before carefully breaking the seal on the letter.

“You’re just lucky he didn’t send Einmyria instead,” Enda said, eyebrows raised as he swiped an apple from the table. Rowan raised his eyebrows back at him. Einmyria was certainly _not_ one of the cousins he’d missed. She might have been Enda’s sister, but she was nothing like her brother. “Luckily,” Enda continued, having nearly devoured the apple already, “I volunteered in her stead.” Rowan watched Enda reach for another apple and felt a slight fear for Emrys’ kitchen. And Rowan doubted that Auberon had taken much convincing to let Enda come. He knew that Enda was one of Rowan’s favorite cousins. It was likely just another taunt, as surely as whatever was in this letter. Perhaps he was summoning Rowan back to Doranelle—Rowan was shocked enough that he had been able to stay in Mistward this long.

Rowan read the letter swiftly, his eyes flitting across the page and his fist tightening around it. Enda watched him out of the corner of his eye, continuing his raid of Emrys’ kitchen.

He slammed the letter down on the table with a low growl.

“What is it?” Enda asked, walking up to Rowan with a casualness that Rowan knew was feigned.

Rowan let out a groan, rubbing his hands furiously over his face. “Auberon wants me to train some princess,” he groaned, sinking into a stool and putting his head in his hands. He did not need this right now—or ever.

“Just say no,” Enda said, sitting down next to Rowan, a block of cheese now in his hands. He offered Rowan a chunk, but he shook his head, not hungry at all.

“He says if I refuse, then he’ll call me back to Doranelle,” Rowan growled.

“I’m sorry, brother,” Enda said, resting his hand on Rowan’s tattooed arm. Rowan knew, of course, they were not brothers in blood, but in friendship, and that felt more important to him than anything else.

Rowan glanced down at the tattoos that covered his left arm. They were great, scrawling things, that told of legendary warriors and battles. He had gotten them a year or so ago, just barely before he told his uncle he was leaving for Mistward. Rowan had always dreamed of a life more than what he had—like the glorious tales that he had heard as a child, the tales that he and Enda had acted out during the wild years of their youth.

Mistward had seemed like the closest thing he could get to it, up away from the endless politics of Doranelle, where the icy mountain winds called to him. There were times, of course, when he found himself wanting _more_ , but it was such a vague feeling he had never been able to put it into words or even a solid desire.

Rowan was sure, though, that training a princess was not the ‘more’ that his heart wanted. He had never cared for the convoluted politics that his uncle indulged in, and this letter positively reeked of it. He tried to image this Princess of Terrasen—conveniently, his uncle had failed to describe anything about her. Would she be quiet, reserved? Or would she be like Einmyria, all manipulation and plans and cruel cunning?

Rowan shook his head to clear thoughts of the Princess. He would know whenever she arrived, and he would do his duty, in order to stay where he most belonged, here in Mistward. Still, he wanted to enjoy Enda’s company while he could.

“How long can you stay?” Rowan asked his cousin.

“A few hours,” Enda replied. His eyes held a mischievous gleam that made Rowan grin. “You know, there are so little places to go in Doranelle. I hardly ever get the chance to stretch my wings.”

“Well, that must be remedied,” Rowan said, with the same affected air that Enda had put on. Then Enda’s smile turned positively wild, and the two Whitethorns shifted and were out the open window in a mere second.

Oh, Rowan certainly had missed his cousin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops this reveals my highkey love for EVERY SINGLE one of sjm's minor characters


	6. Chapter 6

After yet another week of miserable travel, the convoy escorting her to Mistward was forced to stop about half a mile from the outpost. It was there that the road split, and the carriages could no longer fit on the narrow trail leading up to it.

Aelin was currently on a small bay mare, a horse that had been previously used by one of the carriages. Aelin was also, by some miracle, alone. She had pleaded with her guards for a near half hour to let her go on without them. It was only a little ways, she had argued, and the things that lurked in Wendlyn’s woods would not venture so close to a protected outpost. And, most importantly, Aelin wanted to limit the amount of people who knew her identity as much as possible. She supposed it was possible that this Prince Rowan had already informed the entirety of Mistward of her imminent arrival, but she held the benefit of the doubt for her own sake. If there were any possibility that she could stay in Mistward as a commoner, without the weight of the crown on her in addition to the weight of her magic, she would take it.

Somehow, Aelin had won the argument with her guards, and so she continued up the well-worn path through the forest, humming a familiar tune to herself. They had agreed to bring her chests of belongings later that day, discreetly, as she had made them promise.

Wendlyn truly was beautiful, its wilderness similar to the Staghorn Mountains in Terrasen, all looming trees and life and green in every step, far from the desert climates of the port cities Aelin had landed in weeks before. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the clean, pure air of these mountains. Wendlyn may have been similar to Terrasen, but it was slightly different. Aelin could feel a wild savagery in the air that was not in her homeland. It made her want to wear her other body, to embrace the fangs and pointed ears that marked her the same as this wild land, and she knew that in her Fae body, she would smell more than fresh air. The forest would be whispering its secrets to her, alighting every sense she had.

She felt her horse stumble, and she opened her eyes to find they had wandered off the path. “Sorry, girl,” she whispered, patting the mare’s neck. They were only a few feet from the path, having not strayed far at all, but Aelin could not help feeling like it was a warning to her. A warning that although Wendlyn kindled a wildness in her blood, there were dangers that came along with it.

Aelin shook her head once, steering the mare onto the trail again. The forest may have called to her, but she had to remember that it was foolish to answer.

 

 

She breathed a sigh of relief when the outpost was finally within view, even if the sight of it made her brows furrow. It was old, that much was clear, a far, far cry from the gleaming stone palaces of Doranelle, its own gray rock worn and covered haphazardly in moss. Somehow, when she had thought of the fortress where the great Prince Rowan was, she had not pictured a decrepit old thing.

However, it was the ring of rocks around the fortress that truly drew her attention. They towered above her head, above even some of the trees, and even in her human body, she could feel an ancient thrumming power emanating from them. She tried not to tense as she passed the stones, willing her muscles to relax even as she felt the slight stinging of magic against her skin as she passed under. She gave her mare a pat, although she was certain that she was more startled than the animal.

Guards—with hoods concealing their heritage—lined the walls, though they all let her pass with barely a glance. She supposed a lone rider was not much of a threat.

She made her way into a courtyard, where she could see an adjacent stable, and she slid down from her mare, careful not to snag her dress on the saddle. She had tried to dress simply, donning only a simple green gown—green always, green for Terrasen—and a rich gray cloak to ward off the chill that hung in the Cambrian Mountains.

It had not been two moments since her boots had hit the rough cobblestone ground than a boy rushed up to her.

“May I help you?” he asked, a slightly nervous smile on his face. Aelin gave him a close-lipped smile back—she might have bothered with him, with his dimples and brown curls, because flirting _was_ one of her favorite pastimes, even more enjoyable in Wendlyn, where no one knew that the pretty girl smiling at them could melt their bones by accident. That tended to turn people off from her, she had found. But this boy was a few years younger than her, and she decided to leave him alone.

She also decided it would be best to remain as vague as possible until she knew how much the denizens of Mistward knew about her. “I’m here to train with Prince Rowan,” said Aelin, handing the reins to the boy, who was really only looking more confused by the minute, “if you could tell me where I might find him, that would be wonderful.”

“Uh,” the boy stuttered, “he’s probably in the kitchens. Or maybe still on guard duty.” Aelin tried to keep from raising her eyebrows. A Prince? In the kitchens?

“Hm,” Aelin responded. “And where I might find the kitchens?” The boy glanced again at her fine clothes. She might have laughed at his confusion, but he _was_ rather endearing, and he didn’t seem to have a clue who she was, which was even better.

The boy gave her directions before sticking out his hand and introducing himself. “I’m Luca,” he said, his nervousness seeming to fade as he gave her a toothy grin.

“Aelin,” she said simply, grasping his hand lightly. She had considered lying for a brief moment, but she didn’t want to _lie_ about who she was. Just…omit some truths.

And it did not seem to matter, because at the sound of her sound, there was no light of recognition in the boy’s eyes, and he simply took her horse to be put in the stables with only a backward wave.

She was about to start towards the kitchens when she felt someone staring at her. She turned, and saw a Fae male staring at her from across the courtyard.

The male, like Luca, didn’t seem to recognize her. She couldn’t pick out his features from across the courtyard—though a voice in her head whispered she could if she were in her Fae body—she could tell he was handsome, with thick silver hair (a rare color, even if it looked vaguely like he had cut it himself), and the body of a Fae in good training. She gave him an appreciative glance—the male may have been her age, she could tell by his face, but the Fae could certainly put on muscle better than any human. He looked vaguely like Auberon Whitethorn, too, but surely this was not the Prince Rowan that Auberon had told her to find. He didn’t say that Rowan was the only relative he had here—and Auberon had seemed precisely the type to leave out details like that.

She cocked one eyebrow slightly, biting her lip and— _there_. The male timidly glanced up, meeting Aelin’s eyes just as her tongue flicked over her lips. He immediately blushed again—cute, Aelin thought, positively cute—and looked down just as quickly as the first time. Aelin let her smile grow a little bigger before she continued her saunter down the hallway. Maybe Wendlyn might actually be more fun than she thought.


	7. Chapter 7

Rowan was on his way down to the kitchens, after having changed out of the light armor required for all on guard duty, when he spotted the rider. A lone figure on horseback, a female judging by her shape.

The girl dismounted from her horse, which was as fine as the clothes she wore, and began to talk to Luca, who had predictably shown up as soon as a pretty girl was in sight. Rowan wondered briefly if she was the princess he was going to teach. He didn’t think so. His uncle had said that he was sending the princess with a convoy, and the girl was by herself. And, by the looks of it, mortal.

Rowan took a curious sniff, not entirely sure what he was expecting, other than certainly a mortal scent—but at her scent, jasmine and crackling embers, he had to fight not to close his eyes and savor it. She certainly didn’t _smell_ mortal. He took another sniff, right as she turned and her eyes met his, and he jerked his head downwards as fast as he could, his cheeks blushing furiously.

Oh, gods. He had just been caught _smelling_ her.

He dared an upward glance, only to find the girl staring straight at him. He jerked his eyes down again, feeling his cheeks heating. He peeked up one last time, relieved to see that the girl had gone. Then, with a curse, he realized he was late to help before dinner, and he scrambled down the hallways—utterly lacking the immortal Fae grace he felt he had a right to—to the kitchens.

 

He skidded into the kitchen, already feeling the warmth of the ovens when he vaulted down the steps leading into it. He looked up, breathing slightly hard from his sprint through the narrow hallways, and he noticed her about the same time that her scent hit him.

The girl.

She turned to him, and he willed his nostrils not to flare, as she lifted the hood of her cloak away from her face, and the full scent of jasmine, and embers, and a hint of lemon, maybe lemon verbena, reached his nose.

He had not been able to see her well from across the courtyard, not with a cloak hiding most of her face, and—oh, gods. She was the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Golden hair fell to her waist, and her face had fine aristo features, complete with gorgeous eyes, bright turquoise with a spectacular band of gold around her pupils. He felt his knees grow slightly weak, the typical blush warming his cheeks, but something in those eyes—he had seen them before, he knew it. But, where?

He remembered in just a moment, before the silence between them had grown too long, and blurted out, “Princess Aelin?”

Those blue eyes widened, her lips— _don’t look at her lips, don’t_ , he told himself—parting in slight surprise. In a second the expression was wiped from her face, a small smile put in its stead.

“Prince Rowan,” the girl—Aelin, Aelin Galathynius, it really was, then—purred, inclining her head. Rowan swept into a bow, trying to conceal his own surprise as he straightened back up.

He heard a cleared throat from the corner, and he turned to find Emrys watching them, the old male watching with a raised eyebrow. “Apologies, Emrys,” Rowan began, “this is—”

Emrys scoffed and whacked Rowan with a wooden spoon. Rowan clutched his arm, more out of surprise than pain. “I know who she is, youngling,” Emrys said, and the way he turned to Aelin, as well as the complete lack of surprise on the girl’s face, told Rowan that they had already discussed this before he arrived. Rowan just tried not to be insulted by Emrys calling him a youngling—especially because he knew, just as Emrys did, that before Rowan had begun even a fraction of his life, Emrys would be gone. He was dragged out of his morbid thoughts when he realized Emrys had begun talking again.

“Her mother worked here twenty years ago. I recognized her daughter immediately,” Emrys said, smiling at Aelin. She gave him a smile, genuine and rather unlike the one she had given him earlier. “Did you inherit much of her water magic, Aelin?”

The mask of polite detachment went up again. Rowan watched it happen. “I’m afraid not,” the princess said. “I got Brannon’s fire instead.” A legendary power, and Rowan’s eyes widened at her mention of Brannon Galathynius. His uncle had mentioned the princess had magic, but not—but not Brannon’s fire. It was a true blessing from the gods—but he watched the princess as she said it, and not a glimmer of pride or happiness was on her face. Only that cool, calm mask.

Emrys, too, seemed to notice the shift in the princess, and he turned away with a nod of acknowledgement. “Rowan, why don’t you show Aelin to her rooms? The best suite, if you would. Let her get settled before dinner.” Rowan nodded, turning away from the warm kitchens and back up into the cool hallways of the stone fortress.

“This way,” he murmured, glancing over his shoulder to make sure the princess was following before making his way down another hallway.

He knew the rooms to which Emrys was referring, the best they had at Mistward, reserved for visitors of import. Still, the fine guests that Mistward received were few and far between, and none of them as important as a Princess of Terrasen. Just her clothing, the fine make and luxurious cut of her dress and cloak, made her status clear to any casual observer. But Rowan had yet to see her wince at any of Mistward’s rougher features, so he hoped she would find her rooms adequate.

They reached the rooms in a matter of minutes, given the small size of the fortress, and he opened the thick door, praying that someone had bothered to clean the room at all recently.

He let out a small sigh of relief to see the room fairly clean, with a freshly made bed and barely a layer of dust over the room. Despite it, it was still a fine room, with a wide window overlooking the forest, a large hearth, and thick rugs that covered the icy-cold floors. It was large enough to accommodate a writing desk in addition to the large bed, with all plenty of room so as not to feel cramped. It had been the room that Rowan had stayed in initially, until some traveling Fae nobles had taken precedence over him. But he hadn’t pressed the issue since—he had been moved to a smaller, cozier room, closer to the buzzing life of the fortress, and he preferred it to the large, empty bed he had occupied in this room.

“Are we to begin tomorrow?” the princess asked him, and he spun around to face her.

“What?” he asked. He hadn’t been listening. At all. _For the love of all the gods, do_ not _blush around her again._

“Training,” she said, and he bit the inside of his cheek angrily. Obvious. That was obviously what she was talking about. Gods, Rowan was acting like an idiot.

“Of course,” he replied, as smoothly as he possibly could, trying to keep his cheeks from heating. “Dinner should be in about an hour, and breakfast is a half hour after sunrise. We can begin then, if you like.” He managed to make it through two sentences without stuttering, and he had even been able to look in the princess’ eyes, piercing as they were.

“That sounds perfect,” she said, and he could see the relief in her eyes. However, he didn’t have the time to contemplate what it meant, and she stepped further into the room, a subtle cue for Rowan to leave.

“I’ll see you at dinner, or—if you’re not, or—”

“I’ll see you then,” Aelin interrupted, and Rowan just sighed in relief. He had been about to make an even more massive fool of himself. He gave her a simple nod and walked out of her room as fast as he could.

He walked back to the kitchens to help Emrys and Luca with the rest of dinner, and come time to eat, he saw the princess, albeit from across the room. He found himself glad at the distance between them—he needed time to think of a plan for how to train the princess, whose magic, he thought, could easily surpass his in strength.


	8. Chapter 8

Aelin barely slept the first night, choosing to read a book by candlelight instead. Her guards had arrived shortly after dinner, just as she had requested, and now various trunks filled her small rooms, full of gowns and jewelry and, of course, some of her favorite books.

She had fully intended to sleep, but her mind was too busy for her to do so. Tomorrow was the day she would finally begin learning how to control her magic—and although she should have been joyful, she just felt an overwhelming relief, coupled with a nervousness that caused her hands to shake.

After an hour of tossing and turning, she had given up, and lit a few candles so she could read by their light. But even her favorite book, a tome about a shapeshifter and the brave warrior who had won her heart, could not quiet her mind.

She finally recognized what she was feeling, in the drowsy moments of truth right before she finally fell asleep. It was not just nervousness that she felt. No, Aelin felt true, raw fear—fear of what lay inside her, and most of all, the fear of finally having to face it.

 

She awoke with the sun the next day, its bright rays stinging her eyes as she tried to sleep. She groaned, but even through her exhaustion, her nerves ran high enough that she could not coax herself back to sleep. Then she remembered Prince Rowan—or just Rowan, it seemed, in this place—telling her that breakfast was a half hour after sunrise.

She dragged herself out of the warm bed, grateful for the thick rugs, some of them the pelts of great animals, for distancing her from the cold floor. She spent ten minutes digging through one of her trunks, trying to find something appropriate to wear. Her servants had packed clothes for a princess spending time in a foreign capital city, appropriate for balls and impressing and not much else. She settled for a rust-colored gown, and, after braiding her hair back, grabbed the gray cloak she’d worn yesterday.

She made her way down to the dining hall again, making small talk with a few others—mostly males who had approached her—until breakfast was served. It was similar to dinner, simple but hearty and well prepared. She felt guilty for not being able to enjoy it, but she could barely swallow a few mouthfuls with the roiling in her stomach.

The young male from yesterday, Luca, had found her again, and she was almost grateful for his relentless chattering, if only because it distracted her from the anxious energy pounding through her body. Rowan had arrived a little while after she had, but he was still eating his breakfast and talking with several others around him, so Aelin was left to sit and drum her fingers on the table.

She continued to watch Rowan out of the corner of her eye while Luca continued to talk. Gods, Rowan was—was a warrior in all but name, so similar to the Fae warriors of legend that Aedion always blathered on about. Aelin could not help but wonder if the male had already seen battle; his face was young, but his body was sculpted in defined muscles, and she could see the ends of a black tattoo peeking out over the collar of his shirt.

He was vaguely similar to Auberon, if only in size and appearance, although Rowan’s green eyes lacked the condescension and boredom of Auberon’s.

Finally, Rowan stood up and began walking over to her. Aelin stood up quickly, giving Luca a short farewell before meeting Rowan halfway down the dining hall.

“Good morning, Princess Aelin,” he greeted, sweeping into another bow—to avoid looking her in the eye, it seemed—and although his voice was quiet, she could hear the lilting Wendlyn accent in it.

She glanced nervously to the side, although it seemed that no one in the dining hall was paying much attention to them. “Just Aelin here,” she said lightly. “Just as you seem to be just Rowan here.”

“Alright,” Rowan said, smiling slightly, and Aelin couldn’t help feeling that she had passed some test she was unaware of. “I thought we would test your skills today, away from the fortress in case of any…accidents.” Aelin nodded her agreement, and Rowan turned towards the door with only a nod, leaving Aelin to hurry to follow. So Rowan did know the risks of fire magic. She had suspected to, given his reaction to her remark about Brannon yesterday.

They walked through the courtyard and out past the walks of the fortress, and Aelin shivered as they walked through the magic wards, not entirely from the cold.

They walked for some time, perhaps twenty minutes away from Mistward, and Aelin allowed herself to savor the fresh air of the forest and its vibrant colors while they walked. Dew still lingered on many of the ferns, and even a slight fog, although it dissipated as they walked, cut through by the rising sun.

At some unknown point, Rowan stopped, and Aelin glanced up in surprise.

“My uncle was vague, I’m afraid,” Rowan started, and Aelin merely breathed out a laugh. Of course Auberon was vague—with both of them. “Would you mind showing me what you can do? Just so I can get an idea of where to start.”

At those words, Aelin’s body froze and she felt panic fill her veins. She hadn’t actually wanted to use her magic—at all, ever, and certainly not without being prepared, especially when she was standing in a giant _flammable_ forest. “I, um, never had any training with my fire, I don’t—”

He seemed to misunderstand her entirely. “Princess—Aelin, my uncle sent you here so I could teach you. Just shift, and let me see what you have,” Rowan said.

Shift. She could do that. Aelin steeled herself, not for the shift, but for the inevitable leap in her magic that would result. She hadn’t been in her Fae form in _weeks_.

She took a deep breath, and shifted, the light and pain only a brief flash before she settled into her body.

At first, everything was alright, _more_ than alright actually, as she looked around the forest in wonder, smelling every layer of dirt and plants and life all around her, taking in the brilliant greens that she had missed as a human, all the colors more vibrant than she remembered.

But just as Aelin was letting the joy of her Fae body spread through her, she felt her magic awaken in her gut, seeming to stretch like a bear waking from hibernation.

She felt her own fear rising inside her, and her magic leaped up, ready to defend her, and she felt her own instincts to shut it down, to clamp it down with all her strength. But—Rowan had asked to see it. She could show him a little. She would be able to control it for a little while. _Lies, lies,_ some inner voice of hers said. She tried to ignore it, pointing her hand towards a nearby fallen tree. Already dead, and small enough that just a little flame would be enough to light it.

She let out a little of her magic, directing the fire escape the usual hold she had on it. A small flame erupted, pointing towards the tree, and she surprised herself, because it was actually working—but then the fire grew bigger, and she felt a spike of fear in her heart, and then her magic leaped up again, but she had no hold on it, no control, and the forest around her erupted in flame.

She screamed, shifting back to her human body, and falling into a crouch on the forest floor, covering her hands with her arms. Oh, gods, what had she—

But there was a wind, a dull roar, and she looked up to see that the fires she had started had been put out.

“What was that?” Rowan asked, and she might have taken offense, had his voice not been so soft.

“Did Auberon not tell you I needed help controlling my magic?” Aelin demanded, letting her anger override the fear she felt, pushing herself to her feet. Anger was better than fear, she told herself. It didn’t hurt as much.

“Well—yes,” Rowan said hesitantly. “But I assumed you had some control over it. What you just did—you have no control over it. At all. You’re letting your magic control you, actually.” Aelin blinked in surprise at his words. Did he not see what just happened? She wasn’t _letting_ the magic do anything. It just did it.

“I can control it fine in my human form,” she said, choosing to ignore what Rowan had just said. “It’s just that in my Fae form, it—it’s too strong. I can’t control it.”

Rowan stood absolutely still for a moment, in the way only immortals could, pinching the bridge of his nose as if contemplating her words. Aelin crossed her arms, letting her anger continue to swirl around her. It was safe for her to be angry in her human body.

“Aelin, you’re not controlling it,” Rowan finally said. “All you’ve done is—” He paused for a moment, searching for the right words. “All you’ve done is make it worse. Your magic is like a sheltered child—it was never let out and it desperately, desperately wants to be. Of _course_ you’re finding it hard to control. Because you never learned how to control it when you let it out, and now it’s controlling you. All you taught yourself to do was turn the lock in a door.” Rowan stopped, panting slightly from his speech. Aelin tried to hold on to her anger, but she felt it slipping away as the truth of Rowan’s words sank in.

“Why can’t it stay behind the door?” Aelin asked, too quietly.

“Because, Aelin,” Rowan said. “The door is breaking.”

 

They left the woods shortly thereafter. Aelin could tell that Rowan had wanted her to go on, but she had brushed too closely against things she’d avoided for the last seventeen years, and she knew he could see it in her eyes. So they walked back in silence, Aelin in her dull mortal body, her breathed a bit labored from the uphill trek back to Mistward, while Rowan walked ahead of her without a single misstep.

Aelin locked herself in her room as soon as they arrived back, and if Rowan cared his trainee had become a hermit, he didn’t show it. She allowed herself half an hour to work through her panic, which she had hidden from Rowan while still in the woods. She shut her eyes, trying to ignore the shaking in her whole body, and her racing mind. What Rowan had said—it terrified her. She clenched her fists, trying to stop the shaking, but she couldn’t. Her heart was still beating frantically, trying to account for the fear pulsing through her body.

Rowan had to be wrong. The door holding back her magic couldn’t be breaking, not when it had held up for so long.

A familiar memory rose up, tainted with guilt and anger and fear—the boy in the stables. The one who had nearly been killed with the hellfire in her veins.

She clenched her fists again, holding her head in her hands. _No_. Rowan had to be wrong. He had to be.

She repeated it until the sun came up in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aelin is...going through some things. But we finally get to see more Rowan and Aelin interactions. Any thoughts?


	9. Chapter 9

Rowan brought Aelin to the same place in the forest, well away from Mistward.

“I was thinking about what happened yesterday,” Rowan said. Aelin glanced at him warily, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Let’s try shifting and calling your magic again—and this time, don’t shift back. That just puts you in danger.”

It sounded so simple the way he said it: just shift and call her magic. But she knew the storm waiting for her on the other side of her shift, and she hesitated, feeling her hands beginning to shake. She glanced again at Rowan, but he simply nodded at her. _Go on_ , his eyes seemed to say.

Aelin clenched her hands into fists to stop their shaking, and she punched through the inner veil and shifted into her Fae form. Again, the rush of her heightened senses filled her body, but even they could not curtail her rising panic. _Just a small flame_ , she thought, and she called as quietly as she could to her magic. She held out her hand, and a small blue flame appeared, but again, the same panic seized in her heart and the flame exploded, drowning the meadow around her in fire.

Her entire body flinched, but she stayed in her Fae form, clamping down on her magic with everything she had. Her entire body was shaking now, and she could not stop it, even as Rowan slowly put out the inferno around her.

“Aelin,” Rowan said, and she flinched again, seeing that he was standing right in front of her. She had closed her eyes without realizing it, and even with her Fae senses, she had been too involved in her magic to notice him approaching. “Take a deep breath. This was good—I figured out what the problem is.”

Aelin tried to let the comfort of his words wash over her as she took in a breath, just like he had instructed. He figured out what the problem is. _Yeah, the problem is my rutting magic is out of control_ , she thought.

Rowan put a hand under her chin, forcing her gaze back to him. “You just have to let your magic out,” he said, and her jaw nearly dropped. Was he joking? Did he not see what had just happened?

Rowan continued to ignore her expression of disbelief. “Every time you let even the smallest bit of magic, you panic. And your magic senses your panic, and it is trying to _defend_ you, Aelin—”

“Then why is it so hard to control?” she demanded.

“It’s so hard to control,” he said, and she let herself be even angrier at his neutral tone, so different from hers, “because you are fighting with yourself. You’re always trying to shove down your magic, but every time you do that you get more and more agitated.” Aelin realized she was breathing too quickly, and the shaking had gotten worse, but she couldn’t stop. Everything Rowan was saying—it was true, too true and it hurt to admit it.

“Why are you so scared of your magic, Aelin?” he whispered, and the gentleness in his voice made it all the worse.

“Why am I _afraid_ of it?” she hissed, blinking away the tears in her eyes. Rowan actually stepped backwards at the venom in her tone, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. “Why am I afraid of a power that could kill people? Destroy cities? The same power I’ve been told from birth will be a weapon of war?” She turned away from him, from his eyes that were too gentle, so gentle they raked against her anger like knives. “I never wanted this power.” She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She would not _cry_ in front of him. Aelin never cried in front of anyone, not anymore. “And I never want to be Queen, and I hate it.”

“Aelin—” Rowan started, reaching towards her, but she whirled away from him, shifting back into her human body, only stumbling a step as she lost the immortal grace that had been filling her veins. She stalked back towards the fortress, refusing to look back at Rowan, even as she could feel the weight of his gaze upon her.


	10. Chapter 10

The princess did not speak to him for three days. She stayed, locked up in her room and only coming down for meals. He gave her distance, letting her lock herself away. Rowan did not know how to handle her—how to handle the anger and fear that seemed to shroud her whenever she was in her Fae form, so strong he felt it like a blow to the face. The way she described her magic—as a weapon, a killing machine, was foreign to him. Rowan dreamed of being a warrior, yes, but he never saw his magic how the princess seemed to, as some kind of a malicious force. His magic was a part of him—just as her magic was a part of her, though she did not want to accept it.

On the fourth day, she finally said good morning to him, her voice laced with some emotion he couldn’t identify. He said good morning back, breathing a sigh of relief. He had wondered what, exactly, his uncle would do to him if she had refused to work with him any longer.

Over the next few days, she asked him to take her out on walks in the forests around Mistward—as she claimed the fortress was incredibly boring. Still, spending time with Aelin would help her trust him, and hopefully listen to his advice (not that Rowan was, in any way, bitter, he told himself), and if he had to admit it, he liked spending time with the princess.

“Have you ever traveled?” Aelin asked him on one of their daily walks. He tried to keep them restrained to the trails around Mistward, although Aelin would sometimes wander. Today was not one of those days, and he could breathe easier, not having to worry about keeping a constant focus on their location.

“Not much, I’m afraid,” he said. “Not outside of Wendlyn.” He looked over at Aelin, who was in her human body, as she always was. From what he knew of humans, they were weaker and senses far duller. He thought often about why Aelin seemed to prefer that form. “What about you, Princess?”

She smirked at the title. “I suppose I’ve traveled lots of places,” she answered, kicking a pebble out of the path. Rowan noted that her cheeks were beginning to grow pink, and she was starting to breathe heavier; they would have to turn back soon, with Aelin in her weaker form.

“You suppose?” Rowan asked, raising an eyebrow. Aelin laughed at his expression, and he rolled his eyes back. He noticed that he had grown less shy around her—well, Luca had noticed, but Rowan had realized he was right. And it was not a bad thing, he thought. Definitely not.

“I always traveled with my family,” Aelin said. “I never got to _see_ places, not like I saw Wendlyn. Always the insides of castles. And trust me—it gets old.” He huffed a laugh, although he couldn’t say he could relate to her.

Aelin fell silent for a few minutes, and Rowan thought the conversation was over. He was thinking of how soon, exactly, they should turn around when she began talking again.

“I always wanted to see the world,” she said. “To see everything I could, and not in some carriage, locked away from it all.” He turned to her to see a surprisingly wistful expression on her young face. He felt the silence hanging between them, though it was not uncomfortable as it might have been with someone else. Still, he didn’t know how to respond.

“We should turn back,” he said, and Aelin nodded, seemingly content with letting the moment pass.


	11. Chapter 11

The next day, Aelin led them off the trail. Rowan rolled his eyes at her, but she just stuck out her tongue and continued traipsing through the undergrowth.

“What’s your favorite food?” she asked, continuing with her barrage of questions. She looked over her shoulder to see Rowan staring up at the canopy—although whether he was contemplating his answer or begging the gods for help, she couldn’t tell.

“Meat,” he said finally, and Aelin let out a shriek of disbelief.

“Meat?” she said, her voice shrill.

“On a stick?” Rowan answered, his voice cautious as though he were trying to pass a test.

“Oh, my gods,” Aelin laughed. “Meat on a stick.” She rolled her eyes but smiled at him so he would know she was joking, and he gave her a hesitant smile back.

They walked on for perhaps ten more minutes, although Rowan didn’t seem as nervous about going off-trail as he usually was. Or maybe he was just keeping his concern to himself.

They had stopped at a small stream, its water clear and deep enough that small fish swam in it. She smiled and closed her eyes, letting herself enjoy the susurration of the stream, and the sunlight warming her hair. It was a lovely day, spring finally beginning to show itself in the mountains.

Then Rowan broke the comfortable silence between them.

“Why don’t you want to be Queen?” he asked, and Aelin spun around to face him. His face was soft and open, and Aelin told herself to quiet the flaming embers of anger that had stirred at his question. He was just curious, she told herself. And they were friends now, and friends deserved the truth. At least some of it.

“I’m afraid,” Aelin admitted, turning slightly away from him, “afraid that if I rule, my people will have the same fear in their eyes that everyone does.” Her heart began to thump loudly in her chest. It was just one sentence, one confession—but it was something that she had never told anyone, not even her parents, not even Aedion.

“Aelin,” Rowan murmured, his voice soft but commanding. She looked over at him. “Do I look afraid of you?”

She felt the answer immediately, but she paused, her eyes scanning his face, including the green eyes that, just as she thought, held no trace of fear. “No,” she whispered.

“That’s because there’s nothing to be afraid of,” he said. He took her hand in hers, preventing her from pulling away from him. She looked again into his eyes, and they were fierce with his conviction. “If people choose to be afraid of you, it is a mark of their character, not yours.”

Aelin pulled her hand away, shaking her head at Rowan’s words. She walked over to the stream, crouching beside it and dipping her hand into the cool water. With her back turned, away from those piercing green eyes, it was easier to talk.

“No, they’re right,” she started, and she forced herself to take a breath, to continue.

“That’s why I always wanted to be a healer,” Aelin admitted. She let her hand drift in the water, feeling the cool current tugging against her skin. Gentle, pure, calm. It was everything that the turmoil inside her was not. “To fix the destruction that I’d unleash upon the world.” Her words became a whisper on the wind, though she knew that Rowan had heard them.

“Aelin—” He paused as if unsure of what to say. For a moment, Aelin contemplated turning, seeing what lay in those green eyes. Then she decided she didn’t want to, and she continued to run her hand under the water. “You’re not some harbinger of war like you seem to believe. You don’t owe the world anything—there _is_ no damage you have to atone for.”

Aelin whirled to face him again, and she knew anger was written every line of her body. She had no idea how he had done that—spoken to her as though he knew her deepest thoughts. Even the ones she kept from herself.

She was angry because everything he said were things that she had thought about herself. She _was_ a harbinger of war, and chaos, and destruction, and it was why she had kept her childhood dream of being a healer alive—a dream that she could be gentle, could heal instead of hurt, help people instead of being the reason they needed help.

Rowan reached for her, and she swatted his hand away. She was angry—so damn _angry_ all the time, furious, and not just at him. At this rutting world, for taking away any chance at a normal life, at happiness and peace and _friends_ , and putting this fire in her blood. It _burned_ , gods, it burned all the time, and it sang to her until she was certain that she was going to hell, to a blistering and unforgiving Afterworld, for the destruction that she held inside her. It was only a matter of time, that was what everyone had said to her, everyone, and they couldn’t be wrong—and Aelin was so angry that she had been cursed with this power, chained to a life she had never asked for and no way free—so _damn angry_.

Aelin screamed, a ravaged, guttural cry, and she shifted in a flash of pain—and her hold on her magic slipped.

She burst into flames, her and everything around her. And she thought—she thought that she couldn’t go to hell, because she was already there, and it had been eating her away for the past seventeen years.

“Rowan,” she sobbed, her voice twisted with rage and sorrow, the flames dancing around her as evidence to her words, “I’m a weapon of war. I was born for violence.” Her flames caressed her skin, still singing their song, the song that she _hated_ , hated even more because a part of her sang along with them.

“No, you weren’t,” he breathed, and he strode up to her and held her face in his hands, despite the fire circling around her, the flames all around them. “You’re just Aelin. And you get to decide what you are.”

“Rowan—no,” she snarled, her emotions and magic writhing around her. “I am a _threat_. People have tried to _kill me_.”

And there it was.

Dead silence amidst the roaring flames.

The thing that Aelin’s parents had made her swear she would never tell anyone, never speak of again. The thing that she had tried so desperately to forget—yet it echoed in every day of her life, tainting everything she did.

Aelin Galathynius was born to be a weapon of war, and people had tried to destroy that weapon before.

“What?” Rowan whispered, the sound as broken as Aelin felt inside. Tears poured down her face, and she was no longer sure if it was her tears or fire that burned her so.

And just when she expected him to turn away, to see the truth that everyone else saw—that Aelin was a threat, a weapon, something to be held away where it couldn’t hurt anyone—he did the opposite of what she expected.

He grabbed her, and she couldn’t stifle her gasp of surprise as he brought her into his arms, embracing her tight enough that she couldn’t struggle.

And as Rowan held her close, whispering to her that it wasn’t her fault, none of it was, Aelin finally let herself cry.

 

 

Rowan looked down at Aelin, sobbing in his arms as he held her close, still just a girl and just as young as he was. And gods—people had tried to kill her. And she had grown up thinking she was some awful weapon. Not a person. Just a horrible thing to be used to kill people.

And that was the worst of it all.

He could see now—why she had hated her magic. Everyone in her life had told her that it was dangerous, unstable, a threat—not realizing that they were telling her that _she_ was dangerous, and unstable, and a threat.

Rowan held her even tighter, and she let out another sob, and the flames around them grew taller, blue flames mingling with reds and oranges. Rowan checked for half a moment to make sure his shields were intact, protecting the forest around them when being scorched, before he turned back to Aelin. Aelin, whose magic had always sought to protect her, even as she saw herself as the threat.

“You decide your own fate,” he whispered, cradling her head to his chest. “You are just Aelin,” he repeated, “and you get to decide what you are.”

 

They spent the rest of the day outside of Mistward—and Aelin would be eternally grateful for Rowan knowing that she didn’t want to return, not right then.

Sometimes she would talk, about her parents or Aedion or anything, and Rowan would listen, and sometimes she would be silent, and he wouldn’t push her to say anything. He was her friend, she realized. A good friend.

And the more she talked, even though the words were hard to get out sometimes—where she was talking about when she burned an ancient book, and had been banned from her favorite library, or how she had not been allowed to go to Eyllwe with her parents, because the King and Queen of Eyllwe had demanded she not set foot in their kingdom, or so many other things that had happened to her—the more Rowan helped her to realize that none of it, truly none of it, had been her fault. He was the first person who had told her that her magic was a gift, and not a curse, and even when she was shuddering in his arms, her tears had felt healing. Like a burden had been lifted from her.

Eventually the flames sputtered out around her, and she felt her magic still in her chest, but it was—comforting. A gentle warmth that soothed her for the first time in her life.

“I’m ready to go back,” she croaked, her voice raw from crying. Rowan took her hand, and back they went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER. Super sad but also really rewarding to write! What did you guys think??


	12. Chapter 12

The next morning, Rowan took Aelin out of Mistward again, trekking to a clearing not far from the outpost, although not to where they had been yesterday. Aelin had a feeling he was trying to remove her from the bad memories—but she didn’t feel regret or sadness. She felt hope building in her chest, and a lightness, too, that had not been there yesterday.

“Today,” Rowan said, “we’ll finally get to working with your magic.”

Out of habit, a beat of nervousness ran through her body. But she remembered Rowan’s words from yesterday—that her magic was a gift, and not a curse, and not inherently dangerous—and she nodded, taking a deep breath.

“All I want,” he said, talking as he gathered a small pile of sticks and dead branches, “is for you to light this fire. Just let your magic out—it’s okay if it overreacts. Just relax and let it happen.”

Her heart thudded again, but Aelin nodded and took another breath. She pointed her hand towards the fire.

“You don’t need to point,” Rowan interjected quietly. She nodded stiffly and lowered her arm, looking over to the pile of tinder that Rowan had made. She called for her magic, and it came faster than she had expected—there was another pulse of fear in her blood, and her magic began to flood out of her, erupting in fire around her, but—she remembered Rowan’s words. Just relax.

So she did, letting the habitual fear fade away, ignoring the flames that lapped around her. _They do not promise destruction_ , she told herself. _They are not here to harm anyone._

And, for the first time, the flames around her relaxed, fading away as Aelin calmed down. She was not exerting the exhausting and choking level of control over her magic she had in the past, yet it retreated back to her, seeming to hum contently in her chest.

She turned to Rowan, grinning. “I—I did it!” she exclaimed. He smiled back at her, large enough that she could see his sharp canines.

“That was good, Aelin,” he encouraged. “That’s what we’re going to work on—moving past your old habits of trying to strangle your magic, and panicking when it appears. But this was good progress. Again.”

She nodded and turned back to the pile—or what was left of it—and called her magic to her again.


	13. Chapter 13

Aelin quickly learned that there was more to magic than she had thought. Once she had mastered calling her magic, so there was no longer an explosion of fire every time, she had, for whatever reason, assumed that she had control of her magic, and she would return home. She had already started drafting a letter to her parents, telling them about her progress.

She had told Rowan as much—and he had burst out into such roaring laughter that she had nearly stomped away from him.

“Sorry, Princess,” he joked with her, having finally recovered while Aelin stood, her arms crossed and temper flaring. “You have done a brilliant job at overcoming some of your previous issues. But—your magic is nowhere near perfect.”

“I’ve never even seen your magic, Prince,” she taunted right back. “I can’t say I’m convinced.”

Rowan raised an eyebrow at her, and suddenly the hair on her neck rose, and she realized what she had done a half-second too late.

In the blink of an eye, Rowan had frozen the forest around them—and as Aelin looked around them, desperately, all she could see was ice.

A roaring wind whipped around them, and Aelin dropped into a crouch to avoid being knocked over. She looked up to see Rowan standing over her, a nearly wicked gleam in his eye. The wind battered at her until she was sliding backwards—backwards over the slick ice that covered the vibrant green grass of the forest floor.

And just as suddenly as it had appeared, the wind and ice vanished, and Aelin fell to the ground, onto the green grass which was still icy to the touch.

She looked up at Rowan, at the unfamiliar pride in his face.

“When I say you have a long way to go, Aelin,” he said. “You have a long way to go.”


	14. Chapter 14

She had rewritten the letter to her parents, telling them of her progress, but also mentioning that she would be staying longer for further training. It had not been the plan when she had left; Aelin was to return home for her eighteenth birthday, to celebrate among her family and court. But now she felt a hesitation to go back to the castle where she had been so separate from everyone else. At Mistward, no one looked at her warily, or asked how she was feeling like their life might depend on it. She was allowed to be angry and sad and anything she wanted, and—it was freeing.

She tried not to let her bitterness show in her letters.

Aelin and Rowan had been working every day to improve her control, and it was improving greatly. Today was no different, with Rowan finding them a new place in the forest for them to practice. He liked to wander, she had found, to find new places in the mountains around them and marvel at them all.

Rowan had brought candles with him, and they were currently the bane of her existence.

Aelin growled as she failed to light another candle—or, rather, had lit it too well. She had only melted half of it this time, but Rowan insisted on precision.

“Just the wick,” he repeated, seemingly over and over. “Just the wick.”

She flopped onto the ground, frustrated and tired. Rowan handed her a loaf of bread he’d snagged from the kitchens, and Aelin bit into heartily. She was always hungry now that she was working her magic—and right now, she was angry to boot.

“Why do I have to be that precise?” she asked, trying not to sound like a whining child.

“You never know when you may want that level of control, Aelin—in self-defense, for example,” Rowan answered, as calm and logical as ever.

“Self-defense?” she scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “That’s what my guards are for.”

Rowan lunged for her, and suddenly she was pinned to the ground, her wrists in his hands, and his canines alarmingly close to her throat. She gasped in shock, but Rowan didn’t move.

“Could your guards have protected you from that?” he asked, and he still did not let her go even as she struggled against him. He narrowed his eyes, cocking his head at her like he was the falcon he sometimes changed into. “Were you ever taught to defend yourself?” His voice had taken on a more curious tone.

“Not really,” Aelin said, still trying to wrench her wrists from his hold. And gods, Rowan was heavy, especially sitting on her rib cage.

As though he had heard her thoughts, he let go of her and got up, even having the audacity to offer her a hand. She glowered at him and ignored it, sitting up and rubbing her wrists with a pointed look in his direction.

“As a royal, you should really know how to defend yourself,” he said. When she opened her mouth to argue, he interrupted her. “I just showed you why,” he insisted. “Your guards won’t always be there to protect you, and your magic may not either.” His eyes had taken on an excited gleam, though it was too wild for her comfort. “I’ll teach you.”

   Aelin just flopped back on the ground and groaned.

 

That very same day, Rowan began to teach her hand-to-hand combat in addition to magic. From her experiences with it, she had no idea why Aedion found it so fun. She felt like a child, moving slowly and clumsily, even in her Fae form, while Rowan seemed to move like the wind itself when he fought against her.

‘Fought’ was a generous term, really. Considering Rowan was holding back the entire time—Aelin wasn’t stupid, and she could tell quite easily—and Aelin still couldn’t land a single hit. Despite this, he insisted she was making good progress.

It was only a few weeks to Beltane—which had been her favorite holiday as a child—and Rowan wanted her to be able to tend bonfires before then. “I think it will be a good opportunity to work on your control and endurance,” he said, his face wistful, and Aelin only gave him a half-hearted shove, too tired to do more.

“It’s a festival, Rowan,” she pouted. “I’m going to insist on participating.”

Rowan rolled his eyes and said no more.

“And,” Aelin added, more as an afterthought of her own, “my birthday is only a few days after Beltane.” She had planned to spend it in Terrasen, with opulent decorations and ceremonies ranging for days. Yet she felt no regret in her heart, as she imagined spending it the same way she had every day at Mistward, training with Rowan in the fresh mountain air, under the protective canopy of the trees.

“I should have known you were a summer child,” he said, and Aelin smiled at him. “All that fire in your blood had to come from somewhere.”

She smiled again, feeling that very fire purr in her chest at his words. But she no longer felt panic at the feeling of the magic in her veins—and she thought that was the best gift she’d ever been given. “What about you?” she asked, suddenly curious. “When is your birthday?”

“It’s in the first month,” Rowan replied, “when the cold night still rules and summer is but a memory.”

Aelin chuckled at the expression in his tone, although she knew he would deny his penchant for dramatics if pressed. “Winter, then?” she asked.

“I’m a Prince of ice and snow,” he teased, sending a bitterly frigid wind filled with snowflakes flying over to Aelin. She brushed them out of her hair, laughing. “Of course I was born in winter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So TECHNICALLY this meeting-at-17 AU is a lie...Rowan is already 18 and a couple months older than Aelin. But...close enough.   
> Comments & kudos always appreciated!!


	15. Chapter 15

Three days after, Aelin finally lit the wick—and just the wick—of a candle.

She let out just a sliver of her magic, like a single thread, she thought, although she was careful not to suffocate the rest of her magic. In response, the smallest flame winked on the candle, and she rose into the air, whooping.

“Good, Aelin,” Rowan said, warmth in his voice. “That is a good step towards your control.” He handed her a hunk of meat—the glimmer in his eye letting her know that he had not forgotten her earlier jokes about it—but she tore into it without complaint.

“Once you finish that, we’ll move on to some training with knives,” he said nonchalantly.

Aelin perked up immediately. Although she had initially complained about learning to defend herself, she was beginning to see the fun in it. Begrudgingly. And she would never tell Aedion she thought so—but fighting with the wooden practice knives that Rowan had conjured up was her favorite. She felt like a character in one of her books, the kind filled with action and adventure.

She rolled her shoulders, warming up as Rowan instructed her before they went into a set of slow drills. The only sound in the forest was their breathing, the clack of wood as their practice daggers clashed, and Rowan’s occasional instruction.

Aelin did feel herself starting to improve, her sloppy movements becoming more fluid and gaining speed.

In the last rotation, Aelin whirled away from Rowan, and he blinked in surprise to find Aelin pressed against him, her dagger held to his throat, and a wicked grin on her face.

“Maybe in another world, I’m an assassin who could kill you in a heartbeat,” Aelin teased, still holding the dagger to Rowan’s throat. She watched in fascination as he swallowed, the strong column of his throat shifting against the wooden dagger she held.

Then she gasped, as, faster than she could see, Rowan flipped her over so she was beneath him—although his arm under her back had broken her fall. “I don’t think so, Princess,” he said, laughing.

His face was close enough to hers that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face, and she could see flecks of brown in his eyes. She had never noticed them before.

Just as suddenly, he lifted her back up, his arm flexing under her back to bring her up as though they were dancing.

For once Aelin felt a flush in her cheeks matching Rowan’s.

“Maybe someday, Aelin,” he said, but his voice was gentle and the finger tipping her chin even more so.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for not updating!! I'll hopefully have the rest of the chapters up within the next day or two--they haven't been beta read yet but I wanted to post this one for you guys anyway, since you've been so amazing and supportive!

It had been a lazy day of training—really not training at all, if Aelin felt like being honest with herself. Rowan had half-heartedly protested when Aelin asked to explore the woods around them, but she could tell he didn’t mind at all. Occasionally he would offer pieces of advice about magic, as though to convince himself that they were doing something productive, but there was far too much laughing and running to truly substantiate those claims.

As they sat in a sunlit meadow, the sweet scent of wildflowers rising around them, Aelin realized she didn’t really _want_ to go home. She had lived far too long in a castle full of people who looked at her with fear in their eyes, and to be here—in Mistward, surrounded by demi-Fae just like her—and to be accepted the way she was, was more than refreshing. It was like finally being able to breathe after living underwater all her life—and it had shown her what life could be like. More than shame and guilt and endless loneliness.

“I don’t want to go back to Terrasen,” she admitted, and she felt her feelings solidify as she finally said it out loud. She knew she didn’t have to explain what she meant—Rowan knew everything about her life in the palace.

He was silent for a moment, and Aelin glanced nervously at him, before he spoke. “Not even to Aedion?” His voice was quiet. Aelin had also told him about Aedion, her closest and only friend at the palace.

“I miss him,” Aelin said, watching as Rowan began weaving the wildflowers around them in some sort of braid. “He accepted who I was the most—but he loved me the way I was. He hasn’t seen me the way I am now.” She fell silent again, holding up a hand and watching the flame dance around her fingers. Aedion had loved her, and so had her parents, but Aelin had changed so much since she’d left. She tried to work up the courage to say what she wanted to. What she had yet to admit to herself. “What if they don’t accept me as I am now?”

It was a thought that had been swirling in her mind for weeks, a thought that had censored the letters to her parents and made her appreciate her friends at Mistward all the more.

Rowan looked at her, his eyes soft and gleaming. He held out a crown made of wildflowers, and Aelin realized he had been making it for her. “I think they will accept you, Aelin,” he said, and she bowed her head to allow him to put the crown on her. It was lighter than her crown at home—in more ways than one, she thought. “But if you don’t want to go back—then who says you have to?”

 

Aelin smiled at the memory of their earlier conversation, then shivered unconsciously, trying her best not to show how cold she was. She and Rowan had gotten back late that day, just as it started to rain, and all of the good spots near the fire in the kitchen were taken. So they had taken a seat in the back, which Rowan didn’t seem to mind, but the chill of the stone floor was soaking into her bones—it may have been nearly summer, but especially on nights with freezing rain like this, the mountains seemed desperate to hold on to winter.

Rowan glanced at her and then shifted closer, his thigh now pressed against hers while he wrapped an arm around her. She unabashedly leaned into his warmth, shying away from the cold outside air. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t bring a jacket.”

“It’s alright,” Aelin said, and she meant it. She gave him a good-natured poke in the ribs. “I’ll just steal your warmth anyway.” Rowan let out a laugh, quieting only when the people around them shushed them, wanting to hear Emrys’ story instead.

Aelin just turned to him, widening her eyes in mock horror, and he covered his mouth, suppressing a second laugh.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops it's another un-betaed chapter. So please excuse any typos/general issues, and enjoy!! The last couple of chapters have been short but there's a lengthy chapter coming up soon :)

It was only a few days until Beltane.

And Aelin loved it.

For the first time in a long time, she let herself be carried into the excitement and rush of the festival, allowed herself to grin in feral glee thinking of it—a night of fire, just for her. Rowan had told her that, a glowing smile on his face.

Still, Rowan had limited her training, needing to stay at Mistward to help with preparations. He had needed a break, though, and asked Aelin if she wanted to take a walk with him. She had nodded eagerly, grateful for the chance to spend time with her friend.

They had walked for perhaps a quarter hour before Rowan stopped them, at a seemingly random patch of the forest. It didn’t look different to her, but there was a gleam in his eyes.

“This is where I took you that first day—when you were so afraid of your magic,” he said, and a dull recognition passed through Aelin, especially as she spied several charred remains of plants. She stepped closer to Rowan, linking her arm through his, as she found herself wanting to be grounded.

It hadn’t been too long ago, but it felt like an eternity; she had been so different when she was sent over, just a frightened girl scared of herself. She looked up at Rowan, who looked down at her with a slight raise of his lips. Aelin allowed herself to lean against him, remembering the pain she had felt before—yet she found herself suddenly and completely grateful that her parents had sent her here. Even if she felt her heart still yearning to see the world, as wandering as it had been in Terrasen. But this time it was different—she didn’t want to disappear in the night. This time, she wanted to bring someone with her.

As she sneaked a glance at Rowan, a curiosity blossomed in her. She had been sent here—yet Rowan, even though he was a Prince of Doranelle, had already been in the decrepit Mistward when she arrived.

“Why are you here, Rowan?” Aelin asked. “In Mistward?”

He looked down at her again, although there was no malice or violence in his eyes—so unlike his uncle, she thought. She couldn’t fathom how she ever could have thought they were similar.

“I chose to come here,” he said, turning to the forest around them with a smile. There was a soft lilting bird in the distance, singing to them. “My uncle wanted me to stay in Doranelle, but I couldn’t stand it there.”

“Why?”

“Things are—” Rowan paused, gazing up at the canopy above them. “Things are real here. It’s not like that in Doranelle. Everyone there _wants_ something and they play such games to get it.” He was silent, retreating into his own memories.

“What about me?” Aelin asked, lightly touching his arm to get his attention. She put a light, playful smile on her face—the kind that would allow him to shake off the question if he wanted. As her heart pounded in her chest, she realized she was afraid of what he might say.

He turned to look at her, his pine-green eyes soft, soft and gentle, so unlike the wild Fae she had come to expect. “Aelin,” he said, “you’re the realest thing I’ve ever met.”  

 

Rowan had half-heartedly suggested they turn back, but it was barely noon, and the spring weather was too perfect to pass up, so they continued into the forest, in a different direction than they had ever gone.

Rowan, flying ahead for a moment to stretch his wings, circled back and shifted beside her, saying that he had found something he thought Aelin would love.

And he was so very right.

He had found a cerulean pool in the forest, the exact kind of wild beauty that Aelin was always drawn to.

They sat together at a large rock overhanging the pool, near a small waterfall that kept the lovely water from stagnating. Aelin leaned back and sighed in contentment, tilting her face up towards the sunlight and letting her eyes drift shut.

She took off her shoes to dangle her feet in the cool water, raising her eyebrows at Rowan when he did the same. She was half-expecting him to launch into a lesson about magic or self-defense, but he had been growing more lax lately, especially with Beltane coming soon. Not that Aelin was objecting—she no longer felt the driving guilt that led her over the sea to Wendlyn. Here in Mistward, she felt at peace. It held a quiet and sense of belonging that had often evaded her in Terrasen.

She opened her eyes slightly, looking over at Rowan beside her.

He, too, was leaning back on his hands, face tilted into the sunlight streaming down from the trees. She loved this side of him—the open, carefree Rowan that only appeared when he was around those he trusted.

He opened his eyes and met her gaze, and she almost looked away in embarrassment, but then he smiled at her. Her breath caught ever so slightly, but she grinned back at him. Gods, his smile. Aelin didn’t know how he did it—he was a muscular, Fae male with canines sharp enough to pierce flesh. By all accounts, his smile should have been a thing of terror and aggression. But…it wasn’t. It was as gentle as a summer breeze and as free and open as the wild mountains around them.

_Home_ , thought Aelin. His smile was like finally coming home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> join me on tumblr @aelintheunburnt!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I PROMISED A LONGER CHAPTER SO HERE IT IS ENJOY <33

Beltane had finally arrived with a flurry of activity that sent thrills of excitement through Aelin’s blood.

The festival would be held in a plateau near Mistward, Rowan had told her. His definition of ‘near’ seemed to be different from hers. They had been jogging for fifteen minutes and hadn’t come upon it yet. But Aelin was anything but angry—she closed her eyes, letting her other senses guide her as they ran down the smooth trail, a subconscious smile on her face as she felt herself flying through the trees.

Running soothed the growing wanderlust in her heart, as though she could outrun the growing itch to see _everything_. She had vaguely wondered why it had grown stronger. She had always wanted to travel, but at Mistward, she could feel her curiosity shifting into a burning need. Aelin thought that maybe it was because—because it could finally be more than a wild dream. She _could_ run, and sail, and see the entire world, and the thought made her eyes shoot open, a wild grin across her face, and suddenly she was sprinting, past trees and brambles, and a startled Rowan, who yelled at her to slow down.

But Aelin’s grin only grew wider, and she sprinted faster, throwing her head back to feel her hair snap in the wind. She saw Rowan gaining on her out of the corner of her eye, but she twisted away from him with a shriek, and he let out a playful growl behind her.

They reached the plateau only a few minutes later, panting and grinning, while the few demi-Fae already there looked at them strangely. Aelin had supposed they had looked odd, sprinting out of the woods with Aelin nearly tackling Rowan—and she would have, if he hadn’t managed to wriggle away from her at the last moment.

They had arrived early to help, which Aelin tried not to grumble about—festivals were for celebrating, she insisted—and she helped Rowan and a few other demi-Fae build bonfires for that night.

They finished as the sun set and more demi-Fae began to arrive, some from Mistward and others she had never seen. Rowan had her quietly light the fires before too many people had shown up. Aelin supposed that was a good thing—fire magic was, after all, rare, and she would prefer to remain inconspicuous.

She had been keeping them burning all while demi-Fae trickled in, Rowan keeping her company. Aelin had expected him to go off and greet some of the visitors—she had spotted Luca giving out bear hugs to a couple of the strangers—but he remained talking quietly with her. It was then she remembered what he had been like with her at the beginning—quiet and blushing and avoiding eye contact at all costs. In all of their time together, Aelin had forgotten that Rowan was shy.

She couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across her face, and at Rowan’s indignant “What?” she had burst into laughter, her flames jumping with each giggle.

A quarter hour later, the sun had fully set, and now only the burning fires—Aelin’s fires—and torches lit up the meadow. A small group of musicians had begun to play music, and the revelers had immediately flocked around them.

Aelin glanced longingly at the dancers, so different from the carefully regulated movements at the balls held in the palace. Her fingers began to tap the beat of the drums. She wanted to be over _there_ , surrounded by music and vitality and life.

Rowan had caught her glance. “We’re still training, Aelin,” he said, and although his lips quirked up and she knew he had said it jokingly, she nodded solemnly. She was forgetting it more and more often—that he was training her. That she was here for a reason.

“My uncle would make you keep tending these fires all night,” he continued wistfully. Aelin let her shoulders slump just an inch—Rowan had said they were going to work on her endurance, but _gods_ , all night? She turned back towards her fires and away from the laughing dancers.

“However,” Rowan continued, and Aelin turned to him, “he’s a bitter old man.” He extended a hand towards her. “Shall we?”

A slow grin spread across Aelin’s face, and she took Rowan’s hand with a laugh as she dragged him towards the other dancers.

She hesitated once they were within the mass of others—she had never danced like this, and she felt suddenly self-conscious.

Then she felt Rowan step behind her, taking her hand, and he whispered in her ear, “Would you like me to show you the way, Aelin?”

Her cheeks were hot, but she could barely nod before Rowan was suddenly whirling her around him, and within an instant she found her inhibitions gone—gone within the comforting feel of her hands in Rowan’s, and the wild dancing that mirrored those around them. Aelin felt suddenly giddy, and she threw back her head, laughing as Rowan spun away only to find her again. He was grinning at her, his fangs gleaming in the firelight, and she felt it calling to her soul—felt _him_ calling to her soul—and then she forgot how to think as he grabbed her waist, lifting her above him and she wondered if that was what it felt like to fly.

 

 

Rowan’s uncle had always said that love and affection were only tools of manipulation, that they only made one weak and stupid.

Well, then Rowan was a godsdamned idiot.

He had felt it pulsing in him the last few weeks, this foreign feeling. He recognized it when he realized that the princess he was training had somehow become the best part of his life.

It was almost hard to breathe, now, with her in his arms. A beaming smile had been on her face from the moment they started dancing, and she shone with so much vitality that Rowan was constantly surprised that no one else had noticed.

Noticed there was a goddess walking among them—and somehow, through fate or sheer dumb luck, she let Rowan hold her.

 

 

They danced and danced, until Aelin was dizzy and sweating and still ridiculously happy. Rowan’s hands lingered on her hips as he guided her out of the ring of revelers, to the cool air closer to the edge of the forest. She didn’t know if it was being among all the others, or dancing like that, or maybe just Beltane itself, a festival of fire, but she felt her entire body buzzing.

“Would you like some water, or a drink?” Rowan asked, and she caught herself still humming to the music of the drums.

“Yes, thank you,” Aelin said, smiling gratefully.

Rowan stepped away to look for refreshments, and Aelin held her mass of hair off her neck to cool down, when a male suddenly stepped into her field of vision. He had approached her so quickly she blinked in surprise.

“A dance?” he purred, not bothering with a greeting, his dark eyes gleaming in the firelight. Aelin felt a wave of unease, but—the male had done nothing wrong. It was, after all, a holiday. It was perfectly normal to ask a stranger to dance.

“Of course,” Aelin said, and she let her polite, cold smile slip onto her face like a mask, and she let her hair drop from her hands.

The drums had struck up a new beat, and she offered up her hand. The male took it, whirling her around until somehow she was in his arms. _He’s shorter than Rowan_ , she thought. The male’s hand was resting lightly now on her lower back, and she felt the strange unease again. _He’s not doing anything wrong_ , Aelin thought. _I just need to calm down._

They continued to dance among the other revelers for a moment, the male more controlling than Rowan had been. When Aelin tried to lean back, to hopefully get some air on her still-warm face, he tightened his grip on her.

Then she felt the male’s hand roving past the small of her back.

“Please stop,” she said, and she stepped away from the male, who was still watching her intently with his dark eyes. He stepped closer to her again, and she called up her magic, keeping the fire at her fingertips, but she could feel her hands trembling. She had—she had never been in a situation like this before.

“Darling, don’t be like that,” the male sneered, and he reached out to touch her again. She jerked away, and they were past the ring of dancers now, though no one seemed to notice them.

“Get away from me,” she hissed, trying to sound strong even as she felt her heart pounding in her throat. But the male stepped forward again, and he grabbed her wrist—and gods, he was strong—

But then he was ripped away from her.

Rowan had grabbed him by the throat, his fangs close to the male’s face and a vicious growl coming from him.

“ _Don’t touch her_ ,” Rowan snarled, all of the gentleness gone from his face and voice. Aelin watched, letting go of her magic and coaxing the fire back into sleep. The male’s eyes shone in genuine fear as he beheld Rowan in front of him—and Aelin didn’t blame him. Rowan radiated such dominance and anger even she stepped back.

Rowan threw the male to the ground, who gasped for a brief moment, his hand around his throat, before scrambling away. Once he was out of sight, Aelin let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, and she felt the tension in her shoulders dissipate, although her heart was still pounding in her ears.

Rowan still had his back to her, and she could the tense muscles in his back and his clenched fists while he stood, his chest heaving. Aelin wanted to reach out to him, but the waves of aggression pouring off him kept her away, especially in her Fae form.

He finally turned to her, and she expected to see his face as harsh and violent as it had been when he had faced the male, but when her eyes met his, she only saw sorrow, and the last glimmers of anger.

“I’m sorry, Aelin,” he whispered. “I—I know you can defend yourself—I just—”

She walked up to him and pulled him against her. A moment later, his arms hesitantly encircled her, surrounding her with warmth and the scent of pine and snow. The corded muscles of Rowan’s arms were still tense, as though he were prepared to leap after the male, and she closed her eyes, letting the last of her tension fade away. He felt solid beneath her, as though he was the only real thing in the world, and she felt the shakiness leave her body. “It’s alright, Rowan,” she said. “Don’t apologize for protecting me. And—I didn’t want to hurt him anyway. Despite…what he did.”

“What a gentle soul this Queen of Fire has,” Rowan murmured, and his tone wasn’t entirely light enough to be joking, but she pinched his arm anyway and huffed in amusement.

“Truly, thank you,” she said, and she leaned back to look into his eyes, pleased to see their rich color even in the dark thanks to her Fae eyes. “Now, please tell me you brought refreshments.”

“Ah. About that,” he said, and she followed his gaze to where two wooden cups lay on the forest floor, looking for all the world as though they had been tossed away recklessly. As she raised her eyes to his, and found Rowan looking away guiltily, it became very apparent what had happened.

“Well then,” she chirped. “We had better get another.”

Aelin came with Rowan that time, even though she knew she could defend herself if she had to. Still, she felt better with his arm around her shoulders, the way it felt and the way it diverted unwanted attention away from them.

“Thank you,” she murmured as Rowan handed her a cup of water. She drank it gratefully, the cool liquid helping to ease the heat surrounding her.

They stayed at the festival for a while longer, leaping through the bonfires and dancing for a while more, before Aelin finally began yawning.

“We should go back,” Rowan said, and Aelin nodded as she realized how tired she was. She rubbed her eyes before turning to leave with him. He had wrapped his arm around her again, and she leaned her weight into him, groaning as they walked back into the forest. The plateau the festival was held on was beautiful—but it was a ways away from Mistward, and now that meant walking back.

Her legs wobbled slightly, spent from so much activity, and Rowan’s arm tightened around her. “Aelin?” he murmured.

He stopped walking, so she closed her eyes and laid her head against his arm. “Just tired,” she said, and she yawned again.

In a single breath Rowan put an arm under her knees and swept her into his arms. She startled for a second, unused to being carried, but he hushed her protests. “Get some sleep, Aelin,” he said, his chest rumbling against her.

She was too tired to do anything but nod, and she closed her eyes and fell asleep nearly instantly, with the soft rise and fall of Rowan’s chest.

 

Aelin awoke sometime later, her eyes still closed, as she felt Rowan gently setting her on her bed and tucking a blanket around her. Her eyes drifted open, and he turned to go, but she caught the collar of his shirt. “Stay,” she whispered.

Her eyes closed again, too tired to stay open, although she felt Rowan hesitating for a moment. Then, he laid down beside her, running a soothing hand over her hair as she fell asleep for the second time that night.

 

Aelin woke up with the first rays of dawn, and she reached out a blind hand across the bed, expecting to touch cold sheets—but her hand touched a warm male body instead.

She rolled over to see Rowan looking at her, his eyes alert as he rested his head on his arm.

“Good morning,” he said.

“You stayed.” Her hand was still on his chest, his steady heartbeat underneath, but she didn’t attempt to move it. He didn’t move either.

“You asked me to,” he replied, as though that was all that mattered.

They were silent for some minutes, and Aelin was content in a way she had never been before, a quiet happiness in Rowan’s steady pulse under her hand and the faint kiss of sunlight on her back.

It was Rowan’s stomach that growled first, bringing a smile to both of their faces. “Breakfast before training?” Aelin offered, and he stretched before getting up, offering Aelin a hand to help her up too.

“That sounds perfect,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soo?? thoughts/feels/EMOTIONS about this chapter? I'd love to hear about them in the comments!!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO I'M SCREAMING. 1,000 HITS AND OVER 100 KUDOS?? THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH!!

A few days later, Rowan woke her up at the first hint of dawn, whispering, “Happy birthday, Aelin.” He held out a tray filled with all of her favorite breakfast foods, including pastries, though wherever he had gotten them, Aelin had no idea.

She gasped in delight and then grinned wildly, hugging Rowan’s neck tightly when he bent over to set the tray down. “Thank you, Rowan,” she said.

“I’m sorry it’s not more,” he said, although it was more than Aelin was expecting, “but today is your day. We can do whatever you want.” She nearly blushed at the way he looked at her—like she was the only thing that mattered in the entire world.

Aelin thought for a moment about what she had wanted before—an extravagant party, hundreds of guests, presents from faraway lands. But—it hadn’t been what she truly wanted; she could see that now. She looked up to the male in front of her, his hair slightly long for want of a cut, wearing a rough-hewn shirt, and she thought to herself that this meant more to her than a party ever could.

“I have an idea,” she said, smiling.

They rode back to the forest pool, Aelin riding the mare she had brought in with her, glad to spend some time with her horse.

The pool had become one of their favorite spots, with the perfectly placed overhang, small waterfall, and the lovely wildflowers that grew alongside it.

Rowan set down the pack containing their lunch with an exaggerated sigh, and Aelin merely rolled her eyes at his dramatics. He might complain about his family’s histrionics, but she knew he could be no better sometimes.

Aelin sat down, stretching out her legs on the overhang and leaning back on her hands. With another sigh, Rowan collapsed beside her, laying his head in her lap. She laughed, weaving her fingers through his silvery hair. Aelin loved to play with his hair, and Rowan seemed to like it just as much, a deep purr sounding from him.

It was what Aelin had requested—just a peaceful day, like any other.

They talked and lazed about for hours, at times just sitting in silence, content with each other’s company.

When the noonday heat began to become overwhelming, bearing the true promise of summer and kissing her cheeks red, Aelin stripped off the shirt and breeches she had worn over.

With a shriek, she leaped into the pool, the cool water enveloping her delightfully.

“Oh, Rowan, it’s per—” she began, but suddenly he was crashing into the water beside her, and she let out more shrieking laughter, paddling away from him.

He rose to the surface with one stroke, right next to Aelin, and he enveloped her in his arms, playfully pinning her against him.

“Brute!” she squealed, pretending to beat against the rock-solid arms holding her. Rowan laughed—gods, she loved the sound of it—and held her tighter.

“What’re you going to do about it, Princess?” he breathed, his breath hot against her ear.

“Assaulted on my own birthday,” she sighed, going limp in his arms. He relaxed for a moment, his grip on her loosening, and she spun around in his arms, shoving down on his shoulders so suddenly that he slipped and fell under water.

Aelin burst out laughing—until his hand caught her ankle and he dragged her under the water with him. She squeezed her eyes shut against the water, but she felt Rowan’s arms find her again, holding her to him, and then he kicked up against the bottom, bringing them both to the surface.

He gasped for air, water streaming down his face in mesmerizing rivulets. Aelin watched one drop fall from his hair down his cheek, catching on his lips. She was staring, she realized.

Aelin looked up to meet his eyes, but Rowan was staring at her mouth with a hunger that nearly made her shudder. They were close now, so close, their breaths mixing, and Rowan leaned even closer, their lips only a hairbreadth apart.

Without thinking, Aelin leaned in, closing her eyes and brushing her lips against Rowan’s.

A shudder ran through his body, though his arms brought her closer to him, and Aelin wrapped her legs around his waist, suddenly wanting to be as close to him as possible.

Aelin had kissed boys before, and girls too, but _gods_ —it had never been like this. It felt so right she could feel her blood singing with it. She sighed softly against his lips, and she heard Rowan’s breath catch.

“Aelin,” he moaned.

“Rowan?” she said, and she leaned back to look at him. His eyes were half-lidded with desire, but his face was still as open and gentle as it is ever was, and Aelin felt her heart stutter in her chest. Rowan lifted one arm to graze his thumb across her cheek, and she felt her chest constrict again at the tenderness in the gesture.

He leaned in, close enough that Aelin could feel his breath on her lips, could feel him shaking slightly. “Aelin,” he said again, “I love you.”

She felt a part of her sigh, an inner tension she hadn’t known she held—and a word darted through her head, but it disappeared before she could pin it down.

Still, she smiled at Rowan, her closest friend and now—now something more. Aelin had never told anyone outside her family that she loved them; she had never wanted to attach herself to someone like that, had never felt the need. But she had known it for a while, how perfectly his soul complimented hers, and now the words slid off her tongue like silk. “I love you, too, Rowan,” she said, and she tangled her fingers into his hair, bringing him down to kiss her again.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last two chapters are un-betaed, but I wanted to get them to you guys as soon as possible!! I apologize for any typos or weird passages, as usual!

Emrys had declared them the biggest nuisance of Mistward.

Rowan tried to apologize, but the old male had temporarily banned them from the kitchen. And, when he was particularly cross, the entire fortress.

Rowan couldn’t really say he regretted it.

He cherished every moment he was able to spend with Aelin, especially when they were alone, and he didn’t need to pretend that he was listening to other people talk. Aelin would just smirk at him, knowing full well that Rowan was just staring at her instead of listening to Luca talk about—whatever it was Luca talked about.

He loved Luca, he really did—the young male was one of his good friends at Mistward. But it was so hard to focus on anything else when Aelin was around—she was such a blindingly bright light, that Rowan struggled to focus on anything but her. In the weeks following her birthday—when everything between them had changed—he’d also noticed himself always reaching for Aelin, whether it was to hold her hand, or play with a lock of hair, or pull her against him so she rested in his arms. As though he couldn’t quite believe that she was real, that she had let him in and she _loved him back_. He’d grown more territorial too, even if he didn’t growl as much as Aelin did, although she denied it fervently.

It all felt like a dream—the quiet yearning in the back of his mind, for _more, more, more_ , had gone, slipping away one of the nights he lay beside Aelin. They hadn’t done anything other than lay next to each other, but it felt so right to have Aelin beside him, that Rowan didn’t think of anything else. He felt…it was a feeling he couldn’t quite describe—of feeling more wild and yet more grounded than he had ever been, at peace with his princess beside him.

 

 

Aelin and Rowan had just returned to Mistward after being kicked out by Emrys, for being “too gods-damned in love and annoying to deal with”, when Luca was rushing up to them. His face was deathly pale as he handed Rowan a crisp white envelope—and Aelin didn’t miss the crest of House Whitethorn stamped onto the wax sealing it shut. She found herself stepping closer to Rowan, curling her fingers around her arm.

“I met your cousin Einmyria,” Luca said weakly, and Aelin watched as Rowan’s expression, so light and carefree, instantly darkened. Aelin had an idea why—Rowan had told her about his countless cousins, ranging from his favorite Enda, to the more scheming of his relatives. He had told her Einmyria was one of the worse ones, cruel in a way Aelin could never imagine Rowan being, and it explained why Luca was still so pale.

“I’m sorry, Luca,” Rowan said, his voice lower than it usually was. “She didn’t—?”

“No,” said Luca. “Emrys scared her off before she could do anything other than flash her fangs.” Aelin smiled faintly, imagining Emrys fighting off the female with nothing more than his fierce glares and words.

Beside her, Rowan nodded solemnly and talked with Luca for another moment before nodding to her. “I think this would be best opened in private,” he murmured, holding the unopened letter in his hand. “Einmyria may have left Mistward, but I wouldn’t put it past her to be lurking in any of these trees—her other form is a peregrine, like Enda, and she’s just as fast as she is mean.”

Aelin certainly wasn’t going to argue, and so they walked quickly up to her rooms, closing the thick curtains—just in case, Rowan said—before he sat down on the bed to open the letter.

Aelin busied herself organizing her books, giving Rowan space, although she looked back when Rowan exhaled deeply. A muscle in his jaw ticked and Aelin sidled closer. “Everything all right?” she asked, trying desperately to keep her tone light.

“My uncle—Auberon—wants me to return home to Doranelle. To resume my duties as Prince,” Rowan said.

All the breath left Aelin’s lungs in a rush of air. Her mind went absurdly blank. Rowan wasn’t supposed to leave. He wasn’t supposed to leave _her_ , not when she thought they would have more time—

“Aelin,” Rowan said, and suddenly he was in front of her, and the gentle touch of his hand on her cheek brought her mind back to him. “I’m not leaving.”

Her mind was reeling again. “What? Auberon—”

“Auberon doesn’t control me,” he said, and his hand remained on her cheek. “And I want to stay.” She softened against him, leaning into his touch.

“Anyway,” Rowan continued, “even if he tried to come for me, he’d have to get past you, Princess.”

“Oh?” Aelin said, and she flashed Rowan a playful smile, her anxiety fading although her heart still thumped uncomfortably. “You think I could take him?”

Rowan was definitely staring at her lips now. “I hate to admit it,” he said, “because I think we both know your ego doesn’t need boosting—” Aelin scoffed and hit him on the arm “—but yes. You are far more powerful than my uncle.”

“Does that mean I’m more powerful than you, Prince?” Aelin asked, and she smiled wickedly at Rowan.

He winced exaggeratedly, and she shoved him again, although he didn’t move an inch. “You possibly, maybe, perhaps, _might_ be more powerful—”

She swatted him again, laughing, even as some of his words registered in her mind. _And I want to stay._ Of course he would stay at Mistward. But there was another unspoken worry of hers—Rowan would stay with her at Mistward; but would he be willing to leave with her?

“You don’t want to stay here,” Rowan said, and there was not a question in his voice, as though he could read her thoughts. As though he had noticed how she kept taking them farther and farther on their daily excursions, longing to see more and more of the world.

Aelin hesitated, startled at his perception. “I do love it here,” she said, “but my heart wants to roam. I want to see the world. With you.” Because Aelin’s heart may have longed to keep moving, to see the view over every hill—but she didn’t want to be alone. Not anymore.

“We never talked about it,” Aelin continued, her voice low. “You love Mistward—”

“I’ll go wherever you go,” Rowan interrupted, and she stiffened in shock.

“You don’t want to stay here?” she asked.

“Aelin,” he said, and he cupped her chin gently. “All my life I wanted more, and I could never find it—not even in Mistward. But… _you_ are what I was looking for.”

“I love you,” he murmured, leaning closer to her, and she felt herself relaxing again in his arms. “And I will follow you to the ends of this earth and beyond.”


	21. Chapter 21

It hadn’t happened like Aelin thought; it was nothing like in her books, no earth-shattering flash of light or gasp of shock.

It was a gentle sigh, a soft _yes, this, now and forever_ , whispered in her heart.

It had happened the morning they were to leave Mistward. She had turned over in bed and looked into Rowan’s eyes. She had laid her hand on his cheek, and felt the soft hum of a mating bond between them, soothing and sweet and so utterly inevitable.

“Did you feel that?” she murmured, and saw Rowan begin to tear up.

“Yes,” he breathed, pulling her into his arms. “Yes, Fireheart.”

 

They left Mistward quietly, with only a few goodbyes to their close friends, and promises to come back and visit. And they would—that was a promise that Aelin made to herself. She still wanted to see the world, desperately, but she would not forget Mistward. She would not forget the people who had made her feel wanted, who had never seen her as a threat. It was almost an odd feeling for her wandering heart, to feel so connected to a place that wasn’t Terrasen. Yes, Aelin would return.

But first, she would see the world.

So Aelin mounted her horse and rode out of Mistward down the same forest path she had come in on—this time, with her mate beside her.

 

 

Rowan had not wanted to stop at Doranelle—he had told Aelin that everything he cared about was right in front of him, and pulled her against his chest as he was so fond of doing—so they made their way across Wendlyn quickly. Aelin was ecstatic as they traveled, save for the first day—they had camped in the woods, and Aelin had woken up to the sunlight streaming through the trees and burst into tears.

Rowan had been awake in an instant, nearly shuddering himself at the intensity of the feeling that Aelin was sending down their mating bond. It would have been so hard to explain to anyone else—but when Aelin told Rowan, once her sobs lessened, about why she had been crying, she knew he understood, understood everything about her. That morning, as she watched the sun appear over the horizon, everything had suddenly become real to her—she was free, not just from the weight of her crown and responsibilities but free from the chains that she had put on herself, that weighed down the most innate parts of her soul. And now, the unimaginable was real. She was going to see the world, to see and smell and taste everything, with her mate beside her, and she knew he would never look at her with fear in his eyes. It was all too much in that moment, and she had started sobbing. Rowan had held her through it all, and as he held her, more solid than the rocks and trees around her, more real than the rest of the world, Aelin had thanked whatever gods listening for him. For allowing Aelin to find him, her Prince, her Rowan, her mate, the one who had shown her that hers was not a story of darkness. And Aelin had felt a slight tingling on her back where the morning sunlight reached her, and she knew that Mala had heard her.

It was several weeks of hard travel later—not that Aelin or Rowan had particularly noticed, too engrossed in each other—and they had now reached the bustling docks of Wendlyn. They’d arrived early in the morning, to leave on the first high tide of the day, and they stepped onto their hired ship just as the sun rose. Other than the crew and other passengers, Aelin and Rowan were alone—Aelin had written a letter to her parents before she left Mistward, telling them she was traveling the world, and might not return home for a while, and had sent a similar letter to the captain of her guard. She hadn’t wanted their overbearing presence while she traveled, especially not when she was with Rowan.

“Are we headed to Terrasen soon?” Rowan asked, bringing Aelin out of her thoughts. She smiled when he said ‘we’, and leaned against the railing of the ship, briefly closing her eyes to breathe in the briny scent of the ocean. They were headed to Adarlan first, as it was the shortest journey by sea, and they would travel from there. Not to Terrasen—not at first. But the thought of returning home didn’t paralyze her as it once did.

“Not soon,” Aelin said. “But eventually.”

Aelin leaned back from the railing and turned towards the rising sun, felt her slumbering magic awaken and stretch at the feel of the morning sunlight on her skin. She felt an unfamiliar thrill at the feeling of her power thrumming in her blood. It had once scared her—but now, she grinned back, relishing the power in her veins.

“I will face them,” she said, looking out at the sea before them. “All the ones I left behind. And I will face them with fire in my eyes, and I will not be ashamed.” Rowan walked up beside her, slipping his hand into hers. She looked over at him, at the other glorious half of her soul that walked the earth beside her. “But first,” she said, “I want to see the world—with you. With my mate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap!! Thank you thank you THANK YOU guys for all of the amazing responses to this fic!! I really want to write a part 2 where Aelin and Rowan travel around the world and more characters from the series are incorporated. Let me know in the comments if you want to see a part 2, and if so, what characters you want to see!
> 
> *EDIT* if you want to stay updated on part 2, you might want to subscribe to me or to the series (not the work!) 'astra inclinant, sed non obligant', to be sure you see new chapters once they're published! I still have to draft and write part 2, so it may take a few weeks for the first chapters to be available.


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